Gone
by BrknLight
Summary: The war is over, but the pain still remains. For some, it is too much to handle. One Shot. Get out your tissues.


This is basically what I think is going to happen to Harry in the end. It may be true and it may not be but I find it fitting. It's short and really not very sweet but I hope you like it. Brknlight

**GONE**

They sat in front of the fire, not talking. The time for talking was done. They had said all that needed to be said. The only problem was, where would they go from here?

The three of them had been friends all through their teenage years, the years most important for growth, learning. They had been united with many others in a cause that had claimed countless lives. But the war was over; they had fought hard and won. And their friend, their dear, sweet friend that they would have died for had died for them, had died for everyone. Harry had been the only one that could do it, the only one good enough, powerful enough, the only one with cause enough, to destroy the evil that had lurked among them for years. But now he was gone, forever separated from the living by a curtain of ragged black cloth.

They had been crying for days, the shock and pain and anger coming over them in tidal waves of fury. Everyone coped a little differently. Mr. Weasley and his two oldest boys, Bill and Charlie, sat around the dinner table and talked for hours along with other members of the now disbanded Order of the Phoenix; there was no longer a need for it. Mrs. Weasley cooked and wouldn't stop, pausing every now and then to wipe tears from her eyes. Ginny had taken to going for long walks always alone. She had loved Harry fiercely and was still denying that he was gone. She refused to talk to anyone. Fred and George were no longer boisterous and wrecking havoc at every turn, instead, they sat separate from the others, talking quietly. Dumbledore sat in a chair, not moving, not eating, not responding to anything around him. It was almost as if he had died when Harry had been put in the ground.

But Ron and Hermione took it all, and took it the worst. All the others left them alone, together, to deal with the grief. They had each lost a best friend and could not bear to lose another. Never again would they be apart. They clung to each other desperately, needing something to hold on to for fear they would lose their minds to the misery that plagued them.

Food no longer appealed to them. The feasts that celebrated a victory tasted like ash in their mouths; food was lead in their stomachs. Sleep was something they feared and hated. The dark of night was full of his face and of the times they had shared together. It was also a time of remembering what had happened that night.

They had won. All of the Death Eaters had been killed or captured and their leader, the most horrible man of their time, Lord Voldemort, was finally destroyed for good. Never again would he come back to torment the world.

They remembered the way Harry had looked after defeating him: the deadness in his eyes, the heaviness in his steps. Something had been wrong with him then, but no one noticed. Everyone had been drunk with their victory, their success.

Then, he disappeared. He wandered into the Forbidden Forest and didn't come back. After two days, search parties were sent after him, but no one saw even a trace of his continued existence. Then, one night, after everyone else had given up, Dumbledore went out to look for him, convinced Harry was still there, still alive.

Dumbledore found him at the bottom of a gorge, both legs broken from a fall. Harry was alive, but barely. He had been hastily taken to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey fixed him quickly. But he didn't improve. Although his body was healed, his spirit was broken.

Harry was taken to the Order's Headquarters in London. He lay on a bed for days, not moving, not eating. His will to live was gone. Ron and Hermione had sat by him day and night, trying to coax some responses out of him, but he didn't even realize they were there. More often then not, he talked to Sirius, his godfather. He would call to him and told him he was coming. Sometimes he talked to his dead parents, other times to other people who had died in the war, friends and enemies.

Hermione had started crying and had to leave when he began talking to Draco Malfoy, who had died saving Harry and Hermione's life. Harry kept asking Draco why he had done it, why he had saved them. Ron eventually had to leave too, the sight of his best friend going crazy was more than he could handle.

Then, one morning, Ginny had come in to give Harry breakfast. She was determined to get him to eat it. But he was just staring at the ceiling, not blinking, not moving.

Not breathing.

She cried out and several others rushed into the room. Mr. Weasley checked his pulse and tried CPR, but everyone knew it was too late. Harry was dead.

Dumbledore had said at the funeral that Harry had done more than could have been expected of any grown wizard and had done it by the age of seventeen. He had given his life to save others. He had given his peace of mind, his sanity so that others may live. And in doing so, gave up his own life. He had been born a hero, the savior from evil, and had died one.

They didn't talk as they sat by the fire, after everyone else had gone to bed. And as the last embers faded, they drank a toast to the boy who lived, and died, for those he loved.


End file.
